The Man Behind the Mirror
by Robin Birdie
Summary: Sif may have known Loki's secret . . . Still, it was impossible for her to understand it. (One-Shot)


**The Man Behind the Mirror**

"Forgive me the intrusion, Loki."

Loki glanced upwards. It was rare that anyone would enter his rooms, aside from called for servants or the immediate royal family, and – as of late – even those entrances were marked and timed and often closely observed. He noted that Thor lacked such restrictions upon guests, just as he lacked such close observation, but that was simply the double standard of their realm . . . a fact he was expected to accept. It was easy to expect from others such things, as such things _rarely_ impacted the lives of those that made such expectations.

He closed his book gently, whilst he let his fingers trace light patterns on the leather. The cool touch was oddly comforting, something that gave him a nostalgic feeling for a memory that he couldn't quite recall, and he found himself – for a brief second – desperately seeking to remember why he held a fondness for the cold. It didn't matter. Those were ponderings for another time . . . right then he had a _guest_. He swung his legs around from the bed, where he placed his feet firmly upon the stone floor, and – again – enjoyed the feeling of cool stone upon bare feet, enough that he drew in a deep breath. The _chaise longue_ creaked slightly with his movement, but the cushions were comfortable and supported him well.

"Do you often enter the private quarters of men?"

"Only those that carry no stigma," said the guest firmly.

"There will be _great_ stigma should the guards talk of the truth."

Sif smirked beside the door. This room of his apartment was particularly dark, especially with closed curtains and lowered lanterns, but Sif did not appear intimidated or afraid in the least. He almost envied her for that. There were not many women that could stand in the chambers of a man – alone and unarmed – and not mind the darkness, but then Sif was unlike any other woman and Loki was unlike any other man. She knew this and felt unafraid. It made him angry with her . . . he wanted that same fear any other man would evoke from such a woman.

"Is that why you are so strict with them?" Sif asked.

He winced and sent a glare her way, but she merely smiled at his stare. The room felt almost ten degrees colder with her presence, although he knew that the fault lay with him and not with her in the least, because her coldness with him often stemmed from his coldness with her. Sif strove to include him in all activities . . . she yearned for a friend and an equal . . . she saw in him his true self, but in turn he merely played tricks and kept his distance.

Indeed, he would be distant to a man like himself, too. Still, he was in no mood for her attempts to befriend him and her annoyance at his behaviour, and he _knew_ without a doubt that she would long have given up on him . . . were he not her prince's brother. He stood and gestured to the sofa beside him, where Sif moved and sat with a great grace that seemed natural to women of her kind, and yet there was a tension to her shoulders that betrayed her femininity and showed her as a woman that strove to fit in among men.

"Why did you come to seek me?"

"You do not answer my question, Loki."

"Indeed," said Loki. "I fear that stating the obvious would waste our time. If I am strict with the guards – should I have them flogged for the slightest misdemeanour – you may rest assured it is for the good of our realm. Secrets are only effective should they remain untold."

"You place _fear_ in them, Loki! That is not how a ruler should reign! Our king knows that one of you must rule, but I fear you take his lessons as threats and his advice as mockery. You may be as fit to rule as Thor himself, but you cannot rule with fear alone . . . you must _command_ respect, not _demand_ it! I would gladly see you rule, so long as it is _you_ that rules and not the man that you seek to be! You are merely the shadow who you are, Loki."

"If you have come here to _mock_ me for my condition, I would ask that you leave. It is too early for such lectures upon what responsibilities I owe, especially from one that is merely a friend of my brother and an acquaintance of mine at best, and – I must say – I do resent the liberties you take. I am _no_ shadow. I am Loki Odinson."

"You are a shadow indeed, Loki Odinsdóttir."

Loki sat down upon the _chaise longue_. The sheer fury he felt upon those words was beyond anything he could express, as they represented a truth that he longed to repress. It was true that his biology was that of Sif or his mother's, but – _every time_ he looked upon a mirror – he saw a man . . . he saw a _prince_. This body – this constraining and uncomfortable form – was not meant for him in the least, so that he constantly felt as if his skin were crawling and his companions were judging him, and to have those insecurities thrown in his face -?

It was difficult at first, as his gender could only be hid by clothing and short hair, but now he aged and he could find new methods . . . first he bound his chest and cut his hair, but after some time he began to consume medicines to deepen his voice and build his form . . . now he held the power of illusion to cast the image of how he felt to the world. Very few knew the secret, as the 'masculine' female transitioned smoothly into the man that he projected upon the world, and he even refrained from romantic entanglements . . . afraid of being discovered and his secret revealed to the world. Loki felt his heart race, as he glared at her.

"Did my brother send you?" Loki asked.

He sat with legs apart and clasped his hands loosely between them. The answer to the question was most obvious, but he desired to hear it spoken aloud. Sif could easily feign sincerity or concern over his person, but – should she admit she was here out of obligation – he could use it to his advantage and use it to evoke an element of guilt from her, which would be enough to steer the conversation to his advantage. The guiltier he could make her feel, the less resistant she would be to his need to study alone, as he was in no mood to spar or socialise . . . his stomach hurt with all too familiar pains, which made him loathe his state.

"He thought my presence more appropriate," admitted Sif.

"Is that so?" Loki asked sarcastically. "This has nothing to do with the fact that he has been loath to enter my rooms since we came of age? Tell me, does he caress the cheeks of Fandral or embrace Volstagg as he does to myself? He may say 'Brother', but he fails to mean it."

"He worships the ground that you walk upon. Where we would cast doubt upon you, he would defend you without conditions. I can safely say that his affections are due to your person, less so to your biology, and he would react to you in the same way no matter what form you took or how you acted. You could set the entire realm aflame, but Thor would still shower you with affection. There is no reason for your self-consciousness."

"Ah, I see. I suppose that my concerns are unwarranted? Do you know how it feels to learn basic combat skills from your _mother_ , whilst your _father_ teaches your brother all that he knows? Do you know how it feels for those around you to dismiss your spells as 'tricks', when your equals are applauded for their victories? I know. I know all too keenly the sting of dismissal based solely on parts that I would remove, if I could. You would have me embrace this state of being, but why? Do you wish to feel less alone, perhaps?"

"Do not insult me, Loki! _I_ was the one that proved my worth. _I_ was the one that proved women could fight alongside any man. _I_ was the one that never shied from my womanhood or my femininity, but embraced both as I fought and trained and became a warrior worthy of battle! I was never alone, but I achieved all that I did alone."

"Yes, you had my brother's full support. I will not say that there lies the difference, for we both know that Thor would support me in turn, but I _shall_ say that there is a key difference in that you _wanted_ to fight as a woman. Do you deny me my right to fight as a man?"

"You could do _more_ for your kind as yourself than the shade of what could be!"

"Those are _not_ my kind. Do you fail to understand this?"

He turned his gaze to give her a dark glare. The look that she gave him was equally as harsh in turn, but she would not speak or act against her prince without good reason. It likely took all her self-control without the Warriors Three to hold her back, as Sif was not one to back down and one to always speak her mind, and every muscle in her bared arms was tense and ready for action. Loki understood the need to fight, for – like with Sif – every day was a fight in his life. He fought either against his gender or against the 'ergi' stigma, but he fought.

It was easy to explain the desire to be male, for it was a male's world and the discrimination to women existed to a great extent. Loki would admit that he held great hostility to his body, enough that he had often insulted women with vulgar terms and made empty threats against them, and Thor held this disrespect as both an insult against women and Loki himself. There were some legends of many a woman pretending to live as a man, all in order to have the freedoms that were denied to their people, but it was _impossible_ to explain how one could _be_ a man and yet hold the true form of a woman. No one seemed to understand it fully.

They expected it to be a form of manipulation, as the silver-tongued prince sought to use a more acceptable form to his advantage, but the truth was simply that he sought for his external form to match what he felt inside himself. Frigga understood this, whilst Thor tolerated it, but to all else . . . he was merely a female striving to imitate a male, like a player taking on a part . . . luckily the secret was kept well over the years, so that he could live his part as a 'prince' without judgement, but some judgement remained.

"This body does not feel mine," admitted Loki.

He stood up slowly and walked across the room. There was a large basin of water towards the doors to his bedroom, which he touched lightly with his fingertips, and – as soon as he touched it – he saw the reflection of the man he was distort with the ripples upon the silvery surface. It caused a flicker of his true face to appear, either by accidental magic or by his paranoid perception, and he could see how his high cheekbones appeared softer and plumper, with his hairline further down and his lips more full, and he shattered the reflection with a violent punch with his fist. Water spilled over the sides. He could not run from the truth.

"I do not act this way out of spite," he said.

"Aye, but you may as well," snapped Sif. "Do you not realise, Loki? Each time you strive to be more like our male counterparts, it is if you say that our achievements are worth nothing as women! It is as if you say that only a male can contribute to our society! It insults me, as well as trivialises all that I have accomplished. You must be _proud_ of what you were born!"

"I may as well as be _proud_ of being born with black hair. Does it make sense to be proud with what one is _born_? We did not choose to be Asgardian, just as we did not choose to be cursed with womanhood, and I will not be 'proud' of what is not an accomplishment."

"Every day that you prove yourself equal to a man is an accomplishment. You could do more for our people as a princess than as a prince. It could be what is needed to change our people's perceptions and change how women are treated, perhaps even giving hundreds – _thousands_ – of women the chance to be more than what society deems they ought. Thor wishes that you spar with us, but I wish that you would duel with us as our _princess_."

"Indeed, just as I wish that you would leave."

He turned to see that Sif sat with hands clenched upon her knees, whilst her posture and positioning remained that of a woman, and he smiled emptily at the realisation that she would never sit with legs apart or slouched almost in two. Sif was not like him. He would give a lot to be content as she appeared with herself, but instead he felt an itch in his skin that he wanted nothing more than to shed. Loki nodded to the door and waved a hand mockingly, as he raised an eyebrow and waited for her to take her leave of him.

" _Ladies first_ ," he quipped.


End file.
